Latest news with #Gallaudet
Yahoo
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
A Striking Moment in American Activism
They chained the campus gates, occupied buildings, and burned effigies. They pounded on car hoods, waved hand-drawn signs, roared in rage. In the spring of 1988, students at Gallaudet University, a school for the Deaf in Washington, D.C., staged a week-long protest that drew international attention. That year, Gallaudet was on the cusp of finally appointing a Deaf president for the first time in its 104-year history, but the non-Deaf board of trustees balked, choosing a hearing person over two Deaf candidates. Though she later denied it, Jane Bassett Spilman, the board's chair, reportedly said, 'Deaf people are not ready to function in a hearing world.' Incensed, the students revolted, demanding representation. Beyond lively protests, they also organized their messaging and communicated passionately to the press. What was at first written off as mere youthful rebellion, destined to fizzle out, ultimately yielded the appointment of a Deaf president, and helped galvanize the greater movement that led to the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act. The new Apple TV+ documentary Deaf President Now! chronicles the students' actions, which amounted to one of the most effective campus protests of the modern era. Co-directed by Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) and the Deaf activist, actor, and author Nyle DiMarco, the film unearths a particular period in American activism and a hinge point in Gallaudet's history, but it also doubles as an argument for thinking differently about Deafness, and disability, in general. (Guggenheim's production company, Concordia Studio, is funded by Laurene Powell Jobs and Emerson Collective, which also owns The Atlantic.) At a time when college campuses, corporations, and the U.S. government are diminishing—or even overturning—DEI initiatives, the movie's message feels especially resonant. Deaf President Now! is by no means scold-y or preachy, but it asks those who can hear to contemplate the many layers of life as a Deaf or disabled person. Layers, not Deaf, is the operative word in that sentence. The film compels viewers to reckon with what all people are owed, regardless of their bodily traits or circumstance. As its story illustrates, the disabled experience is far from cookie-cutter or one-dimensional. Deaf people want the same things that hearing people want: to be treated as full citizens, to be respected, to live their life with dignity, to have their needs understood by those in power. The week-long protest was so significant because, at its core, it demanded that hearing people see (and hear) Deaf people in an unmediated way. 'What's the microphone for?' It's a simple, profound query that one of the protest leaders poses during the present-day interviews that are interspliced with archival footage. The question is valid, given that the former Gallaudet student organizers, now nearing retirement age, address the camera by using American Sign Language. They're lively and expressive, signing with their whole body, retaining the fiery, opinionated vibe from their undergraduate days. Frequently in Hollywood, sign language is accompanied by captions, but the directors of Deaf President Now! opted to use voice-overs when the Deaf interviewees are on set. Some audience members might view this as a curious choice. A day after watching the film, I came to see it as a compelling inversion: ASL is its own language, and, for those who don't understand it—likely the overwhelming percentage of hearing people—the directors had introduced an accommodation. Watching the film, I was also struck by the sound design, which shrewdly oscillates between hearing and Deaf perspectives. There are, in the movie's opening minutes, the sonic minutiae of daily life: police sirens, a plane landing, a subway car pulling into a station, the pfffft when popping open a bottle. At other points, you see leaves rustling on campus but don't hear them scrape against the ground; when someone pulls a fire alarm, lights flash, but no sound is emitted. Crucially, though, the directors work to show that everyone inhabits the same world, just with different experiences. [Read: A disability film unlike any other] Deafness, like all disabilities, exists on a spectrum. Some people are born Deaf; others become Deaf later in life. Those who have diminished hearing may also consider themselves part of the Deaf community. Though this movie is not a history or topography of Deafness, it does examine the nuances of Deaf culture by showcasing the varied (and even contradictory) stories of how the student leaders came of age. Specifically, the film illustrates the battle between the medical and social models of disability. Under the former, Deafness would be considered an affliction to be 'cured' or 'fixed' with tools and interventions to enable a Deaf person to conform to the expectations of a hearing world. (One of the student activists, for example, recalls being pulled out of class as a kid to go to speech therapy, where he would place his hand on a teacher's nose to understand a hearing person's breath flow as they spoke certain words.) But under the social model, which has grown in prevalence in recent decades, disability is just another aspect of human existence, like someone's hair or eye color. This tension in perspective primacy permeates the film; in 1988, it undergirded the Gallaudet board's initial decision to select yet another hearing person as president. The person they chose, Elisabeth Zinser, did not know sign language. In the end, the protest arguably reached its apex not on the grounds of the school but on national television. One of the student leaders, Greg Hlibok, appeared on ABC's Nightline, opposite Zinser. Along with the Deaf actor Marlee Matlin, he made his case to the host, Ted Koppel, but also to the millions watching at home. Seeing Hlibok on-screen is especially affecting: He is young, inexperienced, and finding his way to his message in real time. He demands respect for himself and his classmates. He gets it. Zinser withdraws, and a Deaf member of the faculty, Irving King Jordan, is appointed. In some ways, it may be hard to believe that Gallaudet went so long—well more than a century—without a Deaf president, a leader who could intrinsically understand the needs and lives of the students. Although other schools for the Deaf exist, Gallaudet is unique: It draws Deaf people from all over the world and is seen as an oasis where disabled people aren't othered. I grew up several miles away from the campus, and I'm a hearing person, but I recall as a kid once having a Deaf counselor at basketball camp, someone who hooped at Gallaudet. He was smooth, fast, and confident on the court; I was young, and I remember wondering, sheepishly, how he could play the game at all if he couldn't hear the whistle. It was a question that didn't need asking; he managed just fine, and was better than other players his age. That admittedly basic concept—that Deaf people don't need hearing people worrying about or patronizing them—is one of the key themes of the film. DiMarco, the documentary's Deaf co-director, told me over Zoom that, in his first conversation with Guggenheim, he made clear that he didn't want this project 'to be framed as a story of pity.' (DiMarco signed his answers and we communicated through an interpreter.) Guggenheim didn't need convincing. He had taken a similar approach for his 2023 film Still, which follows Michael J. Fox's journey with Parkinson's disease. When making that movie, Fox told Guggenheim 'no violins'—meaning no smarm, no Hallmark-channel vibes. [Read: What Michael J. Fox figured out] Though the '88 protest happened before DiMarco was born, he knew its legacy as a child and went on to graduate from Gallaudet himself. In his adult years, he became somewhat of a familiar face after winning a season of America's Next Top Model and competing on Dancing With the Stars. Growing up, DiMarco told me, none of the Deaf characters he saw on-screen resonated with him. 'I often wondered why they couldn't get it right,' he said. 'I've really learned that the key to success in telling authentic stories is having Deaf people behind the camera.' He told me he has more than 25 extended family members who are Deaf and that no one in his family uses the term hearing impaired, which is often deemed ableist. 'I'd say probably the most prevalent misconception is that Deaf people don't carry any sense of pride,' he said. 'I think a lot of hearing people are very shocked when I say I love being Deaf,' he continued. 'I have culture, language, our community, our history. I think that's a very, very big misconception that I'm working every day to correct.' Beyond helping audiences understand some of the Deaf experience, DiMarco told me he hopes this film will resonate because of the civil disobedience at its center. Though he and Guggenheim started making the film six years ago, it's being released amid a wave of attacks against DEI initiatives. The present environment is not lost on him. 'I think today we've really forgotten how to protest,' he said. He acknowledged that he's not sure if, were the same demonstration to occur today, it would have the same outcome. But that possibility doesn't mean the fight for disabled dignity—the fight for dignity of all kinds—is any less salient. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
The Student Protest That Captured America's Attention
They chained the campus gates, occupied buildings, and burned effigies. They pounded on car hoods, waved hand-drawn signs, roared in rage. In the spring of 1988, students at Gallaudet University, a school for the Deaf in Washington, D.C., staged a week-long protest that drew international attention. That year, Gallaudet was on the cusp of finally appointing a Deaf president for the first time in its 104-year history, but the non-Deaf board of trustees balked, choosing a hearing person over two Deaf candidates. Though she later denied it, Jane Bassett Spilman, the board's chair, reportedly said, 'Deaf people are not ready to function in a hearing world.' Incensed, the students revolted, demanding representation. Beyond lively protests, they also organized their messaging and communicated passionately to the press. What was at first written off as mere youthful rebellion, destined to fizzle out, ultimately yielded the appointment of a Deaf president, and helped galvanize the greater movement that led to the passage of the Americans With Disabilities Act. The new Apple TV+ documentary Deaf President Now! chronicles the students' actions, which amounted to one of the most effective campus protests of the modern era. Co-directed by Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) and the Deaf activist, actor, and author Nyle DiMarco, the film unearths a particular period in American activism and a hinge point in Gallaudet's history, but it also doubles as an argument for thinking differently about Deafness, and disability, in general. (Guggenheim's production company, Concordia Studio, is funded by Laurene Powell Jobs and Emerson Collective, which also owns The Atlantic.) At a time when college campuses, corporations, and the U.S. government are diminishing —or even overturning—DEI initiatives, the movie's message feels especially resonant. Deaf President Now! is by no means scold-y or preachy, but it asks those who can hear to contemplate the many layers of life as a Deaf or disabled person. Layers, not Deaf, is the operative word in that sentence. The film compels viewers to reckon with what all people are owed, regardless of their bodily traits or circumstance. As its story illustrates, the disabled experience is far from cookie-cutter or one-dimensional. Deaf people want the same things that hearing people want: to be treated as full citizens, to be respected, to live their life with dignity, to have their needs understood by those in power. The week-long protest was so significant because, at its core, it demanded that hearing people see (and hear) Deaf people in an unmediated way. 'What's the microphone for?' It's a simple, profound query that one of the protest leaders poses during the present-day interviews that are interspliced with archival footage. The question is valid, given that the former Gallaudet student organizers, now nearing retirement age, address the camera by using American Sign Language. They're lively and expressive, signing with their whole body, retaining the fiery, opinionated vibe from their undergraduate days. Frequently in Hollywood, sign language is accompanied by captions, but the directors of Deaf President Now! opted to use voice-overs when the Deaf interviewees are on set. Some audience members might view this as a curious choice. A day after watching the film, I came to see it as a compelling inversion: ASL is its own language, and, for those who don't understand it—likely the overwhelming percentage of hearing people—the directors had introduced an accommodation. Watching the film, I was also struck by the sound design, which shrewdly oscillates between hearing and Deaf perspectives. There are, in the movie's opening minutes, the sonic minutiae of daily life: police sirens, a plane landing, a subway car pulling into a station, the pfffft when popping open a bottle. At other points, you see leaves rustling on campus but don't hear them scrape against the ground; when someone pulls a fire alarm, lights flash, but no sound is emitted. Crucially, though, the directors work to show that everyone inhabits the same world, just with different experiences. Deafness, like all disabilities, exists on a spectrum. Some people are born Deaf; others become Deaf later in life. Those who have diminished hearing may also consider themselves part of the Deaf community. Though this movie is not a history or topography of Deafness, it does examine the nuances of Deaf culture by showcasing the varied (and even contradictory) stories of how the student leaders came of age. Specifically, the film illustrates the battle between the medical and social models of disability. Under the former, Deafness would be considered an affliction to be 'cured' or 'fixed' with tools and interventions to enable a Deaf person to conform to the expectations of a hearing world. (One of the student activists, for example, recalls being pulled out of class as a kid to go to speech therapy, where he would place his hand on a teacher's nose to understand a hearing person's breath flow as they spoke certain words.) But under the social model, which has grown in prevalence in recent decades, disability is just another aspect of human existence, like someone's hair or eye color. This tension in perspective primacy permeates the film; in 1988, it undergirded the Gallaudet board's initial decision to select yet another hearing person as president. The person they chose, Elisabeth Zinser, did not know sign language. In the end, the protest arguably reached its apex not on the grounds of the school but on national television. One of the student leaders, Greg Hlibok, appeared on ABC's Nightline, opposite Zinser. Along with the Deaf actor Marlee Matlin, he made his case to the host, Ted Koppel, but also to the millions watching at home. Seeing Hlibok on-screen is especially affecting: He is young, inexperienced, and finding his way to his message in real time. He demands respect for himself and his classmates. He gets it. Zinser withdraws, and a Deaf member of the faculty, Irving King Jordan, is appointed. In some ways, it may be hard to believe that Gallaudet went so long—well more than a century—without a Deaf president, a leader who could intrinsically understand the needs and lives of the students. Although other schools for the Deaf exist, Gallaudet is unique: It draws Deaf people from all over the world and is seen as an oasis where disabled people aren't othered. I grew up several miles away from the campus, and I'm a hearing person, but I recall as a kid once having a Deaf counselor at basketball camp, someone who hooped at Gallaudet. He was smooth, fast, and confident on the court; I was young, and I remember wondering, sheepishly, how he could play the game at all if he couldn't hear the whistle. It was a question that didn't need asking; he managed just fine, and was better than other players his age. That admittedly basic concept—that Deaf people don't need hearing people worrying about or patronizing them—is one of the key themes of the film. DiMarco, the documentary's Deaf co-director, told me over Zoom that, in his first conversation with Guggenheim, he made clear that he didn't want this project 'to be framed as a story of pity.' (DiMarco signed his answers and we communicated through an interpreter.) Guggenheim didn't need convincing. He had taken a similar approach for his 2023 film Still, which follows Michael J. Fox's journey with Parkinson's disease. When making that movie, Fox told Guggenheim 'no violins'—meaning no smarm, no Hallmark-channel vibes. Though the '88 protest happened before DiMarco was born, he knew its legacy as a child and went on to graduate from Gallaudet himself. In his adult years, he became somewhat of a familiar face after winning a season of America's Next Top Model and competing on Dancing With the Stars. Growing up, DiMarco told me, none of the Deaf characters he saw on-screen resonated with him. 'I often wondered why they couldn't get it right,' he said. 'I've really learned that the key to success in telling authentic stories is having Deaf people behind the camera.' He told me he has more than 25 extended family members who are Deaf and that no one in his family uses the term hearing impaired, which is often deemed ableist. 'I'd say probably the most prevalent misconception is that Deaf people don't carry any sense of pride,' he said. 'I think a lot of hearing people are very shocked when I say I love being Deaf,' he continued. 'I have culture, language, our community, our history. I think that's a very, very big misconception that I'm working every day to correct.' Beyond helping audiences understand some of the Deaf experience, DiMarco told me he hopes this film will resonate because of the civil disobedience at its center. Though he and Guggenheim started making the film six years ago, it's being released amid a wave of attacks against DEI initiatives. The present environment is not lost on him. 'I think today we've really forgotten how to protest,' he said. He acknowledged that he's not sure if, were the same demonstration to occur today, it would have the same outcome. But that possibility doesn't mean the fight for disabled dignity—the fight for dignity of all kinds—is any less salient.
Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
The Gallaudet Four Demanded a Deaf President. Their Legacy Transformed Disability Rights
"Hearst Magazines and Yahoo may earn commission or revenue on some items through these links." When Jerry C. Lee stepped down as president of Gallaudet University, a Washington D.C. higher learning institution for deaf and hard of hearing students, a number of the university's faculty and students felt his replacement should be deaf. This sentiment even extended beyond the university walls and into the halls of power in the nation's capital, where politicians up to then–U.S. vice president George H.W. Bush expressed agreement with the idea that the time had come for the world's first advanced education institution for the Deaf to finally get its first deaf president. After all, it was 1988; the hard-fought victories of the American civil rights movements of decades past were still fresh in many minds, and a sentiment with its origins in Polish politics—Nihil de nobis, sine nobis—had begun to eke its way into American activist circles as the idea of 'Nothing about us without us.' To people who felt it was past due time that a deaf individual be put in charge of the nation's preeminent deaf university, Lee's abrupt departure after less than four years as president provided the perfect opportunity to rectify the inequity. It should have been an easy fix to a long-standing issue. What ensued instead, as depicted in the new Apple TV+ documentary Deaf President Now!, led to an explosion of activism, a national dialogue on disability rights, and ultimately, the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. The genesis of Gallaudet University can be traced as far back as 1856. Amos Kendall, who had served as postmaster general for both Andrew Jackson and Martin Van Buren, felt a desire to ensure the deaf and blind children of Washington D.C. received adequate care. Accordingly, he donated two acres of land to serve as both a home and a school for children with disabilities. The following year, Gallaudet was chartered, initially as a grammar school under the name Columbia Institution for the Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb and the Blind ('dumb' being the term at the time for people who don't communicate verbally). Edward Miner Gallaudet, an academic who, while hearing himself, was the son of a deaf mother, was asked to serve as the first superintendent. Gallaudet's father, Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, had cofounded the American School for the Deaf in 1817, and it's after Thomas, not Edward, that the school was eventually renamed. Under Edward's stewardship, the school survived the Civil War and even served as a hospital for Union troops during an August recess (with some of the deaf students reportedly helping to care for the wounded). On April 8, 1864, the school officially became an institute of higher learning when Congress authorized it to grant college degrees. The newly-minted college, naturally, had Edward serve as its first president. One hundred and twenty-four years later, a total of six men had served as Gallaudet's president. Not a single one of them was deaf. Up until the 1980s, Gallaudet's presidents had always served at least a decade in their position. But in 1988, in the wake of the rather swift turnover of the last two university presidents, W. Lloyd Johns (October 1983 to January 1984) and Jerry C. Lee (May 1984 to January 1988), a portion of students and faculty felt the time had come for the university to finally appoint a deaf president. Although not yet a cause that galvanized the bulk of the student body as it later would, the issue found some support in the early stages. Given that Gallaudet received federal funding, major figures within the government also spoke up in favor of the appointment of a deaf president. This included then–U.S. Vice President George H.W. Bush (at the time in the midst of a primary campaign that would ultimately seal his 1988 Republican presidential nomination), who penned a letter to Philip Bravin on the Gallaudet Presidential Search Committee that read in part: 'In the last two decades our society has undergone a quiet revolution. The Congress, the Courts and the Administration have strongly supported the right of people with disabilities to hold positions of trust and leadership. Our government has enacted numerous laws to ensure that disabled people are ensured equality of opportunity.'Accordingly, as an entity funded by the Federal government, Gallaudet has a responsibility to set an example and thus to appoint a President who is not only highly qualified, but who is also deaf. I hope that the Trustees will keep Gallaudet's critical leadership position in mind when they make their decision.' By the time Bush's letter arrived, the Search Committee had narrowed down their options to three possible candidates: Harvey J. Corson, the superintendent of the Louisiana School for the Deaf in Baton Rouge and a Gallaudet alum; I. King Jordan, dean of Gallaudet's College of Arts and Sciences; and Elisabeth A. Zinser, vice chancellor at the University of North Carolina. Whereas Corson was born deaf and Jordan was rendered deaf in an automobiles accident at age 21, Zinser was a hearing individual who couldn't speak sign language. On March 1, 1988, according to an article in The Washington Post from the time, a rally of nearly 1,500 formed in anticipation of the selection of a new president. Roughly 20 Gallaudet students and faculty reportedly spoke at the rally. In his remarks, Professor Allen Sussman declared, 'This is a historical event—you could call this the first deaf civil rights activity.' Sussman's assessment was ultimately correct, though not perhaps in the way he had anticipated. On March 6, Gallaudet quietly announced via a flyer that the university had made a historical appointment: the first female president in its history, by selecting the hearing candidate, Elisabeth Zinser, over the two deaf candidates. Outraged, a large group of students marched to the nearby Mayflower Hotel where the board had gathered to make their decision. Board member Jane Spilman eventually emerged to try to quell the crowd but allegedly explained the board's decision by stating 'Deaf people cannot function in a hearing world.' Deaf President Now! featured archival interview footage of Spilman denying that she said those words, but Spilman is unable to recollect exactly what it was she said that was allegedly misquoted. Zinser's selection and the board's dismissiveness tossed a proverbial match on the powder keg of student outrage. 'Deaf President Now' had been the slogan on buttons and flyers handed out at the March 1 rally, but now, it had become the rallying cry of a campaign of protests and civil disobedience aimed at ensuring that the demands of the deaf students of Gallaudet could be heard loud at clear. At the forefront of this movement were four students, known as the Gallaudet Four: Tim Rarus, Greg Hlibok, Jerry Covell and Bridgetta Bourne-Firl. In his capacity of student body government president, Rarus had been involved in the search that led to Zinser's appointment. But his time in office was coming to an end, and Hlibok was elected to replacement him just one day before the protests broke out. Their student government background and Rarus' experience with the search committee made both men natural leaders of the protests. Covell and Bourne-Firl had run against Hlibok for student body government leadership. Although they lost, the campaign had elevated their names among their students. Covell was additionally established as an outspoken activist who knew how to rally a crowd. He became the 'spiritual leader' for the student movement. Bourne-Firl similarly help direct students during group actions. She shares in the documentary that she utilized her past experience as a deaf cheerleader guided by rhythm to organize an amorphous mob of students into a disciplined collective of chants and movement. On the ground, students barricaded the campus with bike locks and buses whose tires had been deliberately deflated. They marched on the U.S. Capitol Building. They outlined a list of demands, which included four key points: The selection of a deaf president for Gallaudet to replace Elisabeth Zinser The immediate resignation of board member Jane Spilman Reconfiguring the Board of Trustees to comprise a 51 percent majority of deaf board members, as the current board had 17 hearing members to 4 deaf members No reprisals against the student protestors A watershed moment for the protests occurred when Hlibok appeared opposite Zinser and recent Oscar-winning deaf actor Marlee Matlin on the ABC news program Nightline. 'I felt so nervous and anxious until the broadcast began,' Hlibok later shared. 'Once it did, I felt at ease and comfortable because I allowed the truth to take over the entire time. With the truth of our compassion, nothing comes easier than expressing it.' As the young Hlibok gained his confidence over the course of the televised debate, his principled ferocity reached an audience of millions, igniting a public sentiment in favor of not just the Deaf President Now movement, but also a broader disability rights movement across the country. On March 10, Zinser resigned as Gallaudet president. Three days later, Spilman resigned from the board, with Philip Bravin taking on her former leadership role. It was Bravin who then announced that I. King Jordan had been appointed the new Gallaudet University president and that the students involved in the Deaf President Now protests wouldn't be reprimanded. The fight for a deaf president of Gallaudet had concluded, but the broader movement it inspired carried on. The impact of the Deaf President Now protests was swiftly felt across the country, inspiring a wave of new reforms and legislation aimed at correcting centuries of disabled Americans being denied agency. Within two years of the student-led movement, U.S. President George H.W. Bush signed into law the Americans with Disabilities Act, which prohibits discrimination based on disability and required workplaces to provide reasonable accommodations for disabled employees. Looking back, Rarus sees the progress that has been made since the Deaf President Now protests (DPN) and the opportunities still ahead. 'Since DPN, Deaf America has seen changes—the Americans with Disabilities Act, the Closed Captioning bill, the Telecommunications Act of 1996, and most importantly, the attitude of 'Yes, I can' being adopted by deaf children and adults everywhere,' he shared. 'The fight is not over, we will always need to strive for equality in our world. Yet, we have started that journey. And today as we continue to carry our torch, Deaf President Now symbolizes Deaf People Now.' Deaf President Now! is now streaming on Apple TV+. You Might Also Like Nicole Richie's Surprising Adoption Story The Story of Gypsy Rose Blanchard and Her Mother Queen Camilla's Life in Photos
The Herald Scotland
17-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Herald Scotland
'Deaf President Now!' peels back curtain on Deaf culture
That's about to change with new documentary "Deaf President Now!" (streaming now on Apple TV+, home of Oscar-winning film "CODA"). It chronicles the students at the world's only Deaf university, Gallaudet, in 1988, who fought back against the college's decision to hire a hearing president. In its 124-year history, there had only been hearing presidents. The students locked gates. Used buses to block the entrance. Went on national television to air their grievances. All in the name of their community. It's a story co-director Nyle DiMarco, Deaf actor and filmmaker, has wanted to tell for years. Initially, he and producer Jonathan King tried for a scripted version that didn't pan out. "The story of 'Deaf President Now!' was about so much more than just appointing a deaf president," DiMarco says. "It's more complex, more layered and contains much more nuance than what we would have been able to provide within a scripted format. And because it didn't lend itself to really telling the story the way that we needed to, we brought it to (co-director Davis Guggenheim), who immediately said, 'No, no, no, this has to be a doc.'" And so it became one - one that everyone, from Deaf people to hearing people to today's student protesters, ought to give a watch. 'They were able to overcome those internal conflict' Guggenheim, who is a hearing person, felt like he was pretty informed about the Deaf community when he signed on to the project. "Now, two years later, I feel even more ignorant than when I started," he says, "meaning it's a beautiful, complex world that I'm just a visitor in, and Nyle has been so generous to sort of invite me in." That collaboration will mean a unique viewing experience for the audience; for hearing people, that means they will appreciate sound like a deaf person might. By vibration, for example. "Growing up Deaf, a lot of people have this assumption that we have no relationship or interaction with sound whatsoever," DiMarco explains, "but that's not true. It's not entirely lacking in our world. We just experience it in a different way." Appreciating differences is a key throughline in the documentary. Watching the film, one can't help but compare it to other college campus protests, stretching from the Vietnam War to the current war between Israel and Gaza. "When we were editing the movie, on one screen would be our characters in 1988 and then on the TV over here was, protests at Columbia and UCLA and and it was a striking, striking contrast," Guggenheim says. The students profiled in the film, for example - Jerry Covell, Greg Hlibok, Bridgetta Bourne-Firl and Tim Rarus - didn't all get along. But they still managed to fight for a common goal. "They were able to overcome those internal conflicts and those differences of opinions and work together every day until they got what they wanted," DiMarco says. 'I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be': Nyle DiMarco talks Deaf, queer culture in 'Deaf Utopia' memoir 'I don't think there's any one right way to be Deaf' Not only did the protests lead to the resignation of the appointed president, Elisabeth Zinser, but also the stepping down of Jane Bassett Spilman, chair of the board of trustees of the university. Ultimately, the students do see their Deaf president in I. King Jordan, then a dean. But not before they grew angry at him for switching back and forth between siding with students, then the university. Jordan became deaf as a 21-year-old in an automobile accident. "He's sort of bordering between these two worlds. And there's a moment where, he says, 'I never really felt, you know, completely home in one place or the other.' And as I always say, I don't think there's any one right way to be Deaf," DiMarco says. 'I am not ashamed': Disability advocates, experts implore you to stop saying 'special needs' You're 'not powerless' What should people take away from the film? Well, a lot. The significance, for starters. "This protest alone gave rise to the passage of the ADA, major American federal legislation which serves to protect and provide rights to over 80% of the American population," DiMarco says. "So we are very big contributors to our history, you know, and I would hope that they would see that we're no longer second last class citizens." Gallaudet has had a Deaf president ever since. Guggenheim hopes people consider it in the context of today's divisive politics: "I think there are a lot of people right now who are seeing big, big changes to our political landscape, and they're feeling powerless. And I hope people watch this movie and realize that they're not powerless." And don't forget, there's strength in numbers. DiMarco adds, "I think you'll be surprised when you do start speaking up, just how many people you'll find in your corner behind you."
USA Today
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- USA Today
The Deaf community's history is often overlooked. That's about to change.
The Deaf community's history is often overlooked. That's about to change. Show Caption Hide Caption 'Superman,' Mission: Impossible,' 'F1' and summer's must-see films USA TODAY film critic Brian Truitt releases his list of summer's must-see films. The highlights include "Superman" and "Mission: Impossible." More than three decades ago, a week-long protest on a college campus caught the attention of the whole country and led to resignations of university officials. But you probably don't know about it. That's about to change with new documentary "Deaf President Now!" (streaming now on Apple TV+, home of Oscar-winning film "CODA"). It chronicles the students at the world's only Deaf university, Gallaudet, in 1988, who fought back against the college's decision to hire a hearing president. In its 124-year history, there had only been hearing presidents. The students locked gates. Used buses to block the entrance. Went on national television to air their grievances. All in the name of their community. It's a story co-director Nyle DiMarco, Deaf actor and filmmaker, has wanted to tell for years. Initially, he and producer Jonathan King tried for a scripted version that didn't pan out. "The story of 'Deaf President Now!' was about so much more than just appointing a deaf president," DiMarco says. "It's more complex, more layered and contains much more nuance than what we would have been able to provide within a scripted format. And because it didn't lend itself to really telling the story the way that we needed to, we brought it to (co-director Davis Guggenheim), who immediately said, 'No, no, no, this has to be a doc.'" And so it became one – one that everyone, from Deaf people to hearing people to today's student protesters, ought to give a watch. 'They were able to overcome those internal conflict' Guggenheim, who is a hearing person, felt like he was pretty informed about the Deaf community when he signed on to the project. "Now, two years later, I feel even more ignorant than when I started," he says, "meaning it's a beautiful, complex world that I'm just a visitor in, and Nyle has been so generous to sort of invite me in." That collaboration will mean a unique viewing experience for the audience; for hearing people, that means they will appreciate sound like a deaf person might. By vibration, for example. "Growing up Deaf, a lot of people have this assumption that we have no relationship or interaction with sound whatsoever," DiMarco explains, "but that's not true. It's not entirely lacking in our world. We just experience it in a different way." Appreciating differences is a key throughline in the documentary. Watching the film, one can't help but compare it to other college campus protests, stretching from the Vietnam War to the current war between Israel and Gaza. "When we were editing the movie, on one screen would be our characters in 1988 and then on the TV over here was, protests at Columbia and UCLA and and it was a striking, striking contrast," Guggenheim says. The students profiled in the film, for example – Jerry Covell, Greg Hlibok, Bridgetta Bourne-Firl and Tim Rarus – didn't all get along. But they still managed to fight for a common goal. "They were able to overcome those internal conflicts and those differences of opinions and work together every day until they got what they wanted," DiMarco says. 'I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be': Nyle DiMarco talks Deaf, queer culture in 'Deaf Utopia' memoir 'I don't think there's any one right way to be Deaf' Not only did the protests lead to the resignation of the appointed president, Elisabeth Zinser, but also the stepping down of Jane Bassett Spilman, chair of the board of trustees of the university. Ultimately, the students do see their Deaf president in I. King Jordan, then a dean. But not before they grew angry at him for switching back and forth between siding with students, then the university. Jordan became deaf as a 21-year-old in an automobile accident. "He's sort of bordering between these two worlds. And there's a moment where, he says, 'I never really felt, you know, completely home in one place or the other.' And as I always say, I don't think there's any one right way to be Deaf," DiMarco says. 'I am not ashamed': Disability advocates, experts implore you to stop saying 'special needs' You're 'not powerless' What should people take away from the film? Well, a lot. The significance, for starters. "This protest alone gave rise to the passage of the ADA, major American federal legislation which serves to protect and provide rights to over 80% of the American population," DiMarco says. "So we are very big contributors to our history, you know, and I would hope that they would see that we're no longer second last class citizens." Gallaudet has had a Deaf president ever since. Guggenheim hopes people consider it in the context of today's divisive politics: "I think there are a lot of people right now who are seeing big, big changes to our political landscape, and they're feeling powerless. And I hope people watch this movie and realize that they're not powerless." And don't forget, there's strength in numbers. DiMarco adds, "I think you'll be surprised when you do start speaking up, just how many people you'll find in your corner behind you."
