Sign Language Interpreters:
When Accessibility for One Becomes Inaccessibility for Another
In college, I once had to drop a class - not because of the professor, the topic, or the workload. I dropped it because of a sign language interpreter.
Let me be clear: this isn’t an attack on interpreters or their importance. ASL interpreters are essential for access, period. But what doesn’t get talked about is how their presence - specifically, their required facial expressions - can be visually disruptive for neurodivergent people like me.
I’m talking about exaggerated facial movements. Eyebrows jumping, mouths stretching into shapes that don’t match the words being spoken, rapid shifts in tone expressed only through facial mechanics. It’s all part of ASL grammar - I get that now. But back then in the 1990s, I didn’t have a name for what I was experiencing. I just knew I couldn’t focus. My brain locked onto every twitch, every brow raise, every tightly pursed mouth, like it was a fire alarm.
So I left. I changed sections. I got out.
Because while everyone else could focus on the professor, I was stuck trying to “unsee” the interpreter.
The Thing No One Talks About
Neurodivergence and sensory sensitivity aren’t rare. I have Aspergers. Autism, ADHD, and trauma-linked hypervigilance all come with an intense sensitivity to movement, especially facial movement. For some of us, a single person moving too expressively in our line of sight is enough to throw off our regulation entirely. It’s not annoyance—it’s neurological overload.
But try explaining that to a school administrator without sounding “insensitive.”
Try asking, “Can the interpreter stand further to the side?” or “Is there a way to dim their presence without removing access for others?”
You’ll get the same look every time.
We love to throw around the word “inclusion” - especially in education. But here’s the truth nobody wants to say out loud: most systems still operate on a one-lane model. They accommodate the loudest or most historically underserved group, then assume the rest will just adjust. That’s not inclusion. That’s narrative control. When access is designed for one group without accounting for others, it stops being inclusive and starts creating new barriers. And forcing one person’s access to become another person’s shutdown point? That’s not progressive. That’s a design failure plain and simple. If you're neurodivergent, the story of “equal access” often comes at your expense. And no one writes that part down.
When Communication Becomes Theater
In ASL, facial expressions aren’t optional. They’re part of the language. Raised brows might signal a question. A wrinkled nose can mean “not really.” The mouth moves to convey size, tone, or intensity. It’s brilliant, really. But it’s also a full-body performance.
And in a silent classroom, that performance can overwhelm the visual field for someone who didn’t sign up for it.
I’m not saying interpreters should stop doing their job. I’m saying we need a more nuanced conversation about shared spaces - especially educational ones - and how access for one group can quietly disable another.
Just because the disruption isn’t loud doesn’t mean it’s not real.
The Ethics of Sensory Respect
This issue isn’t limited to interpreters. It applies to every space where universal design has been implemented without consulting people across the neurological spectrum.
Bright fluorescent lighting.
Forced eye contact.
Group participation exercises. I loathe these!
Background music.
Clapping.
Strong perfumes. I loathe this especially in places that serve food.
Interactive tech boards that flash too quickly.
All of it adds up. And it’s exactly why so many autistic, ADHD, alexithymic, and sensory-processing students end up walking out. Not because they’re failing the material, but because the environment was never built to include their brains in the first place. What’s worse is that when we do bring it up, we get framed as inflexible, cold, or (ironically) “insensitive.”
It’s the emotionality double standard all over again.
We’re supposed to be okay with chaos in the name of inclusion - but when we ask for clarity or calm, we’re told to adapt.
Who Gets to Define Disruption?
That’s the real question.
Is disruption defined by sound?
By size?
By emotional impact?
Or by how many people complain?
Because if disruption were measured by the inability to process information effectively, then exaggerated facial movement in a quiet room would absolutely count.
It’s just that no one tracks that kind of disruption. No one counts the students who quietly leave, who change majors, who switch campuses - because the rooms never worked for them in the first place.
A Call for Multi-Directional Inclusion
The solution isn’t to remove interpreters or silence necessary access points. It’s to treat sensory design and emotional regulation as ethical imperatives, not optional considerations.
Classrooms should be arranged with multiple types of brains in mind. That might mean:
Placing interpreters in a location visible to those who need them, but off-center for those who don’t.
Allowing sensory-regulated seating zones.
Giving neurodivergent students the ability to request spatial accommodations without having to justify it emotionally.
Inclusion shouldn’t mean “we fixed it for one group so the rest will just have to deal with it.”
I Left Because It Was Easier
And I shouldn’t have had to.
That class? I liked the subject. I liked the professor. But I couldn’t fight my own neurology just to stay in the room. And I didn’t have the language to explain why the interpreter was making it impossible to focus. So I walked out and never said why.
Until now.
Sources That Don’t Suck:
Kapp, S. K. (2020). Autistic Community and the Neurodiversity Movement: Stories from the Frontline. Palgrave Macmillan.
Bogdashina, O. (2016). Sensory Perceptual Issues in Autism and Asperger Syndrome. Jessica Kingsley Publishers.
Dunn, W. (2001). The Sensory Profile: Measuring a Child’s Sensory Processing Abilities. Therapy Skill Builders.
American Psychological Association (2021). Neurodiversity and Inclusion: Beyond One-Size-Fits-All in Education.
Gernsbacher, M. A. (2017). The use of person-first language in scholarly writing may accentuate stigma. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry.