In the name of pride

“Can I make a joke?” » The guys nod in agreement. Diana continues: “I’m losing my voice today… It’s a good thing the class is with you! » A fraction of a second later, as soon as the interpreter finishes his translation, everyone bursts out laughing.

They attend the third workshop offered at the initiative of the House of Deaf Men. Cabinetmaker Diana Silva will teach them how to make a cutting board, and she is more delighted than stressed: “It’s a challenge to adapt to them, but they are constantly adapting to us! I find it beautiful to be able to highlight people who are totally capable of doing the work. »

Marc-André Beaulieu, interpreter for the Visual and Tactile Interpretation Service (SIVET), acts as a bridge between Diana and the six participants. He is also the one who allows me to talk with Martin Boucher, the one who started it all.

The speaker at the House of Deaf Men was looking for activities to promote when he discovered the workshops offered at Les Affûtés. Not only could they respond to glaring needs in the deaf community, but they could also have an impact on the self-esteem of men using the services of the House: “It’s in our mandate, to encourage pride! »

(And are we never more proud than when we repair something ourselves, without saying anything?)

Martin submitted his idea to the Communo-inclusion competition, from Sivet, and obtained the necessary funds to ensure the interpretation of a series of manual work workshops. At Les Affûtés, we were immediately excited.

In a desire for inclusion, the team already offered courses to young people in social reintegration, to seniors and to people on the autism spectrum, the founder of Les Affûtés, Michael Schwartz, explained to me. It was just a matter of adapting to a deaf clientele.

Is it always so simple? Martin Boucher answers me that today, inclusion is important and facilitated, but he agrees that this has not always been the case. He remembers wanting to orchestrate a “tree to tree” type outing with other deaf people, around ten years ago. He was told that it was impossible. We hadn’t asked any questions and even less looked for solutions… It was just no. That time is over, he adds. “Today, the big issue is rather the financing to pay the interpreters. »

Their presence, however, is crucial.

Pascal Lajoie is in his third workshop at Les Affûtés. He previously learned how to repair a wall and carve wood. He’s a manual guy, an operator in a printing house, yet he would never attend such trainings without an interpreter. How could he know how to handle tools safely? That would be downright dangerous.

Tomasz Sietnik adds that we could communicate in writing, but that would be far too tedious and that, in any case, it is important to create such spaces for deaf culture.

The issue goes beyond know-how.

Jonathan Rozon admits it to me bluntly: he is here to “help [son] moral and break isolation.” This is precisely one of the missions of the House of Deaf Men.

Martin Boucher explains to me that before its creation, in 2013, men in Greater Montreal had few resources accessible in sign language in terms of psychological and relational well-being. Whether it’s about managing emotions, legal issues, addictions or discrimination.

He tells me a sentence that will stick in my head for several days: “You have access to the information that is circulating, if only by listening to the radio. We don’t necessarily have this knowledge. »

We are exposed to so much knowledge without even trying to be. Life without this data, delivered and received effortlessly, is completely different.

In three years, demand has increased by 250% at the House for Deaf Men. The two employees of the non-profit organization carry out 250 interventions per month with a clientele mainly made up of people in their thirties and forties.

Martin is creative in offering them support. At the end of March, he will launch a new 10-week project: a discussion group on self-esteem in collaboration with the organization Relief, which specializes in mental health.

But for now, the challenge is manual.

Diana Silva begins the course by explaining her journey. When she talks about furniture restoration, Marc-André gets confused and interprets the word “restoration” as if she were talking about a restaurant… Brief confusion. Martin points out the misunderstanding, everyone laughs.

The guys also laugh when the workshop manager tells them that she is going to put on hearing protection before starting the machinery… They won’t need it, they answer.

Then, Diana invites them to choose the blend of their taste from three types of wood: cherry, walnut and maple. She shows them how to use a scraper, planer, miter saw, drill press, band saw, sandblaster and router to create their cutting board.

Participants do not hesitate to interrupt when they need clarification. And therein lies the beauty of the exercise. Martin had told me earlier: there are very few spaces where deaf people do not hold back from asking questions, for fear of being misunderstood. Tonight, they know that they have every opportunity to make themselves understood.

It is a relief.

A relief that the Affûtés team hopes will be contagious: “I would like other structures to know that it is possible! Let isolated communities come and work with us,” Michael Schwartz told me.

And I would like even more organizations to be open to the accommodations necessary for meeting, autonomy and pride.

It’s amazing what a cutting board can hide.