The Paris Banquet and the Swedish Deaf Movement, or: A Signed Room on Stage

By Jenny Schöldt
Translated by Ylva Söderfeldt

On May 3, 1868, a group of Deaf gathered together with a few hearing friends – today, we would probably call them ”allies” – at the Manilla Deaf-Mute Institute in Stockholm. The three initiators were the school’s hearing director Ossian Borg, the Deaf teacher Fritjof Carlbom from Tysta Skolan (“The Silent School”, another Stockholm Deaf school), and the artist Albert Berg. Carlbom had paid a visit to Berlin and, inspired by the Deaf club there, had decided to start something similar in Sweden. On this day, twenty-two Deaf and five hearing persons agreed to form the Deaf-Mute Society, Dövstumföreningen, predecessor of today’s Swedish Deaf Association. This remarkable event, a milestone in Swedish Deaf history, celebrates its 150th anniversary this month.

It was the actor Joakim Hagelin-Adeby, chairman of the Stockholm Deaf Society, who came up with the idea to stage a play in honor of the history of the Swedish Deaf movement and the banquets that were held in Paris in the 19th century to celebrate Sign Language. The title was going to be Parismiddagen – the Paris Banquet. His suggestion prompted Tyst Teater, a theatre company that has been performing in Sign Language for more than four decades, an audition for Deaf writers. The framework was in place, and now prospective playwrights were free to be creative.
When I found out about the idea, I immediately envisioned a table in a room, with two Deaf persons seated, signing: artfully, quickly, humorously, like I’ve seen my Deaf friends sit and sign so many times before, and like I’ve done myself. I often think of Sign Language as something that goes on in the room where it is ”spoken”, that can’t be translated or captured. Sign Language is a language without tenses, consisting, put simply, of lexical and non-lexical signs. The non-lexical signs are descriptive verbs that are modified (signs are not inflected) according to context, or created as a result of the syntax. Very much like what happens on a theatre stage.
To write a script in one language that is supposed to be performed in another one, because the latter lacks a written form, is a problem that has been discussed over and over again within Tyst Teater and the rest of the Deaf artistic community.  In the past, for a different project, I had tried writing in a modified Swedish that made it clear how the lines were supposed to be signed. But this solution killed the creativity of the actors, and impeded the artistic work of the director.
I realized that I can’t decide how another Deaf person has to express themselves.
That has to happen in the room. In the conversation.

Actors Joakim Hagelin Adeby and Mette Marqvardsen on stage, seated across from each other at a long table set for a banquet, dressed in historical costumes and signing. Photographer: Urban Jörén

So this is why I wrote the play in Swedish. I was fortunate to know the previous work of the director, and to some extent the style and skills of the actors. The fact that they had to work with translation and interpretation gave the piece a dimension I now find invaluable.

Writing a play about a movement that is still ongoing, as a person who is part of that movement, is a strange and exhilirating meta-emotion, and perhaps something historians can relate to. A piece of history, alive, that I am observing and part of creating. Myself, and other Deaf. This was my intellectual starting point. I wanted to use my perspective on Deaf history, as it appears when I ask myself the question: what is Deaf history? Milestones such as the French signed education, the deaf schools, the official acknowledgement of Swedish Sign Language by the state in 1981, the Swedish Deaf movement. I want to be clear that I am concerned here with Nordic Deaf history, with a few links to other European Deaf communities and the US.

One table. Two signers. Leaping from one milestone to the other.

Actors Mette Marqvardsen and Joakim Hagelin Adeby on stage, Marqvardsen with a pipe, Hagelin Adeby with glasses, shaking hands and cheering. Photographer: Urban Jörén

Then I started reading and exploring, somewhat, these milestones. I soon found myself annoyed at how most of the documented history of the Deaf dealt with the schools, or consisted of dull summaries of club proceedings and such. This gave me reason to reflect on why this is what the sources look like, questions that I incorporated in the piece. In this manner, I brought myself onstage, and I hoped that the audience would be able to identify with my experience, even if their questions weren’t exactly the same. Speaking of documentation, we are among the peoples that lack historical records, since we didn’t have written language, and since we are not born into our group. We are born into another linguistic community, and grow up among the hearing. In order to sign, we need other Deaf people. An somehow, we always seek out and find each other, and somehow Sign Language always finds us.

Actors Joakim Hagelin Adeby and Mette Marqvardsen on stage, standing behind the table holding up a banner that reads, in Swedish: "TO BE. DEAF. SIGN LANGUAGE FOR ALL." Photographer: Urban Jörén

Words come and go, but the Deaf are here to stay.

Parismiddagen is currently on tour in Sweden. Some of the performances are accompanied by seminars on Deaf culture and history. See https://tystteater.riksteatern.se/parismiddagen/

Recommended Citation:

Jenny Schöldt: The Paris Banquet and the Swedish Deaf Movement, or: A Signed Room on Stage. In: Public Disability History 3 (2018) 7.

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Futures of able-bodiedness: The dance performance THIS THING I AM

By Martin Nachbar, choreographer
Translated by Ylva Söderfeldt

On December 7, 2016 my team (consisting of dancers Lisa Densem, Sunniva Vikor Egenes, and Benni Pohlig, the lighting designer Bruno Pocheron, costume designer Marion Montel, and the producer Susanne Beyer) and I celebrated the premiere of a dance performance that approaches the subject matter ‘cyborgs’. “This thing I am” is my latest production and will be performed again in a modified version on June 17 and 18 in the Sophiensaelen in Berlin. Because our budget didn’t allow us to actually work on the interface between bodies and technology, I instead focused on two aspects that are technological and fantastic even though they don’t involve proper cyborg technology:

First, we worked with the fact that we as humans have always used different techniques in order to be in the world and survive day by day. Through practice and repetition, numerous of these so-called body techniques are stored within our bodies, allowing us to relate to our environments. One of the most ancient, most pervasive, and therefore perhaps least conscious body techniques is walking. Most of us learn it as infants, through imitation and months of trial-and-error. Walking is a useful example not least because it readily refers to the wide range of possibilities of modifying a body techniques by external means: shoes, crutches, prostheses, wheelchairs – extensions like these also extend the concept and perception of walking as a body technique.

This leads to the second aspect of our work with “This Thing I am”. One of the core features of dance is that it experiments with human body techniques and in doing so enhances and extends the awareness of the body and its surroundings. To a great extent, these processes have an open end. They do not strive towards greater efficiency in order to get ahead in the evolutionary struggle for survival, but explore the leeway offered in action and perception. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

This, in turn, means that the imaginary always matters in dance. How does our perception open itself up to a still unknown future? This is the question that our contemporary technologies pose to us, to our changing bodies and our existence in a changing world. This is science fiction, not as u- or dys-topia, but as a sensitive and open play with what is yet to come.

Based on these considerations, we focused on three methods when rehearsing the piece: First, the work with the connective tissue within the bodies of the three dancers. This tissue type has gained increasing attention through the recent popularity of therapeutic and diagnostic methods such as osteopathy and certain types of manual therapy. The connective tissue rests underneath the skin, envelopes muscular fibres, in shape of tendons connect bone with muscle, keeps organs in their places, and thus forms a network throughout the entire body. If we were to extract everything but the connective tissue, we would still be able to recognize the shape of our body, inside and out. Furthermore, the fascia tissue harbors most of our proprioceptors, the sensory receptors that detect the position of our body parts in relation to each other and our position in space. These receptors are found adjoining most acupuncture spots of Eastern medicine, and they react positively to the insertion and slight twist of the needle by which the tissue is minimally wrought. The fascia also reacts to manual touch. During rehearsals, two of the dancers often attempted to put the third dancer’s fascia into motion as a way to make them aware of it.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

In an increasingly dynamic process, this turned into trio improvisations, and finally choreographies that evoke the feeling and image of three bodies connected in an invisible network. In rehearsals, the dancers spoke of future surgical procedures without cuts and scars, and of the sense of an inner and outer network connecting what’s inside the body with what’s surrounding it. We did not necessarily invent new movements or body techniques. Rather, and that was most important to me, we sharpened the way in which we perceive bodies and the way that they already are connected without technological enhancement. This is the foundation of almost all movement in the piece.

The second method was fictional storytelling. I asked the dancers to imagine an event in their lives that made them into cyborgs. Each of their stories refers to physical alterations that make the contemporary body an extraordinary body in a different time. The result was versions of science fiction that reflected the individual knowledge, wishes, hopes and fears of each dancer. The mental figure was the word “once”, which directs us both into the past and the future. Benjamin Pohlig, for example, relates how he hacked the memory hard- and software of big insurance companies in order to regain control over his own recollection, but then kept getting further and further lost in the Memory Cloud. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

Sunniva Vikor Egenes tells us about how she lost her job as a musical performer after cyborgs literally stole the show with their enhanced features. She then goes on to learn new body techniques, which unexpectedly give her a wonderful singing voice.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

And, finally, Lisa Densem fantasizes about having her consciousness overwhelmed by the injection of a micro-machine that operates on neuronal levels and infiltrates the chemistry of the brain. The micro-machines allow for new connections in the brain and for enhanced abilities to verbalize experience. The process leaves her in a state of constant immersion in the experience, full of complexity and detail but without a sense of time or a way to verbalize it. In the end, she says, “There are things I cannot communicate. There are things I know which you would not be able to think. I have seen things. Sometimes I try to ignore this knowledge. I like to play myself as I used to be, but then I am overcome by guilt and a sense of responsibility. That is why we are here.”

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

This kind of limbo is not the purpose of current efforts within cyborg- and AI-technology. Quite contrary, the involved companies and military organizations want to gain as much financial and strategic advantages as possible for the neoliberal and martial struggle for survival. This is their prerogative. But let’s remind ourselves what dance can make us aware of, and what the cultural theorist Karin Harrasser has repeatedly pointed out: body experiments are always open-ended, since we can never predict with any certainty what technological body enhancement will make possible, and what a body will do with its enhancements.

That we humans, and now I return to the issue of walking, use our hands the way we do results according to some anthropologists from the fact that the bipedal walk freed the hands for other tasks. Evolutionary biologists also see a connection between speech and upright walking, as gravity pulled the larynx down in our throat, making room for the complex oral anatomy needed for speaking. Had the early hominids been confronted with the vast possibilities of their voices and hands, they would probably not have dared to make those first steps.

This leads me to the final method from the rehearsal process. In mime corporel, which is a physical acting technique and not intended for dance, the so-called “point fixe” is an important component. It consists of fixating a hand in space as if it were holding on to a pole or supported by a wall, and then letting the body move around this fixed point, without moving the hand. In mime corporel this serves to create the illusion of an object. 

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

We also worked with “point fixe”, but not to create imaginary objects, but in order to explore and question how hands are connected to bodies. There is already discussion around whether children should still learn to write by hand, when they in the future will surely be writing on keyboards, if at all. So, what will hands be good for in the future? Maybe they will remain only as relics of an earlier design, only to facilitate the transfer from the manual to the next era, when we’ll use them only for gesture and, as the Deaf already do, for language.

What this is going to be like we can only surmise. I imagine it will be exciting to program an app using gesture, and to also use the app by this means. Instead of crouching over the smartphones in our hands, using our thumbs to navigate, we’d see the data with inner eyes, and operate it with gesture. We will see wild and connected choreographies in the streets, every step, each gesture could be directed towards an app, or a passer-by. Every pedestrian would become a dancer and thus a kind of researcher that experiments with the possibilities of their body within an open network with other experimenting bodies.

Photo: Dieter Hartwig

See the entire performance here: https://vimeo.com/198805877
Martin Nachbar is a choreographer based in Berlin.

Recommended Citation:
Martin Nachbar (2017): Futures of able-bodiedness: The dance performance THIS THING I AM. In: Public Disability History 2 (2017) 8.

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