Social Justice: Anne Frank Revisited

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it". - George Santayana

In eighth grade, we read The Diary of Anne Frank as part of our Holocaust unit in English. Upon completing the novel of the young girl hiding during World War Two and subsequently betrayed and sent to a concentration camp where she perished, our teacher thought it would be enlightening to compare the printed text with the film adaptation. The day she showed the movie version taught us all an important lesson – some things never change.


A week before the viewing, the sign language interpreter and I visited the movie collection in the school library and we discovered two copies of The Diary of Anne Frank, both identical copies of the 1959 film with Shelley Winters and Ed Wynn. Turning both VHS copies over, I scanned the back and side panels for the now-familiar CC symbol that would indicate whether or not the film was captioned. The special edition double VHS had the message balloon on it while the single VHS copy had no indication it carried closed-captioning.

“We may want to ask the librarian to make sure your teacher picks up this one,” the interpreter held up the double-VHS edition, “and not that one,” she held up the other single-VHS tape version and placed it back on the book cart. “You know, she’s... special...  and my guts says she will pick the other one.”

I nodded. This was the same teacher who would not let me do my Holocaust research project on Project T4 and Hitler's mistreatment of persons with disabilities in wartime Europe as she claimed "it didn't happen". We both knew better.

Making our way to the circulation desk, we approached the librarian. Taking the copy from the interpreter, I slid it across the counter. “Will you make sure my teacher picks this video and not the one on the book cart. This one’s got captioning and the other doesn’t.”

She smiled and nodded. “Of course.” With that, she ripped a Post-It off a nearby stack and placed it on the VHS cover and scribbled a reservation note with my teacher’s name on it. “There we go. I’ll make sure she picks up this one.”

Satisfied, I bid her a good day and left with my interpreter for our next class.

The following week, my English class assembled as the bell rang. Our teacher opened the TV cabinet and slid the doors out of sight into the sides and turned it on. On screen, the frozen image of the ominous “Feature Presentation” appeared. With a click from the remote controller, the image melted into the opening black-and-white scenes of the classic film. The teacher strode over to the light switch and turned them off, leaving a lone light illuminating the door to the hall.

My interpreter sat poised on the edge of her office chair, ready to leap up.

Glancing her way, I raised my eyebrows as I heard a series of unintelligible speech via my cochlear implant. A quick dart of the eyes towards the TV screen showed no corresponding white text in black boxes blinking in sync to the sound playing. “You think – “

Nodding grimly, my interpreter got up and grabbed the remote controller off the teacher’s desk. From the other side of the desk, the teacher squinted at the interpreter in suspicion. Fumbling around with the buttons, my interpreter located the CC button and clicked. Nothing happened.

Onscreen, the Frank family entered their Secret Annex, oblivious to the scene playing on the other side of the TV screen. Thinking it was a dead remote, my interpreter checked the volume level to see if bars went up. It did.

Disgruntled, she clicked the CC button again. Nothing.

I waved my hand to attract the interpreter's attention. “I think she got the other one.” Sliding from my desk, I approached the teacher. The interpreter stood off to the side, voicing for me as I shared the story of reserving the other copy specifically for our use in class .

Unfazed, the teacher looked at us with disdain. “The other one was simply too long.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Too long? They were identical!”

Nodding, the interpreter jumped in with “One was longer as it had more previews, an intermission and some critical thinking questions attached at the end. Once you cut those out, the length is exactly the same.”

The teacher shrugged. “Get it if you want.”

Needing no other excuse, my interpreter and I left, heading for the library. Once we got there, we made a beeline for the reserved items cart and found the video with the Post-It still attached. The librarian we spoke with earlier wasn't in and the substitute had no idea what we were talking about and refused to let us check the video out as it was “reserved for Mrs Xxxx”. No amount of explaining would budge her decision. Not even when we told her that the same Mrs. Xxxx was my teacher.

My interpreter and I eyed each other. Nimbly my fingers flew while my mouth stayed firm and silent. “D-I-S-T-R-A-C-T H-E-R.” The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly as she winked, getting the drift.

While she engaged the substitute librarian in friendly conversation, I opened my zipper binder and slid the video inside. Zipping it up, I nodded to the interpreter and we thanked the librarian for her time.

Approaching the metal detector, I pointed at my cochlear implant and stared at my interpreter to make sure she was on the game. I took a deep breath and stepped through. On the tips of the detectors, red light flashed on as a intermittent buzz filled my head.

From the desk, the librarian’s head snapped up disapprovingly. Shaking my head and feigning knowledge, I pointed at my cochlear implant. “Metal.” I shrugged apologetically. The librarian sighed and waved us through. I let my breath out and pushed my way through the double doors.

(Later the interpreter pointed out that it was funny that no one had said anything about me not setting it off on the way in, only on the way out… Intrigue…).

Back in the classroom, the class' attention was still glued to the TV screen while the teacher hunched over her desk with red pen in hand correcting assignments. I strode over to the VCR and noted the time stamp of the video so I could fast-forward to the same spot again and ejected the video.

A blue screen flashed across the TV screen as my classmates blinked in confusion.

“What are you doing?” The teacher breathed down my neck as my interpreter explained that this copy had captioning. The teacher sighed and looked at the TV. Turning her head to the interpreter, she said “Well, we just started the movie and it would be a shame to start it all over again…”

I glared at her as I held my finger on the fast-forward button, eyeing the numbers flashing by.

The teacher whispered something to my interpreter. I could see steam rising from my interpreter’s head and raised my eyebrows in inquiry.

“She said that I should take you into an empty classroom and watch the movie yourself.”

What? “No.” I ignored my teacher’s protests and nimbly pushed ‘play’. Instantly, the movie resumed from its spot, this time with closed-captioning bracketing the bottom of the screen. I smiled in satisfaction.

My interpreter smirked as she told the teacher that I was staying, whether she liked it or not.

“But they’re distracting…” My teacher pointed at the captioning. “They destroy the artistic validity of the film.”

I grabbed the remote controller from the interpreter and pushed ‘mute’. “So does this.”

Titters filled the classroom. I turned my head in amusement and sent a lopsided grin towards them. A bright light blinked on in my mind. “How many of you have objections to the captioning being on?” The interpreter relayed my query, knowing what the answer would be.

No one raised their hand. In the back, a male student held up a finger. “Actually it helps me.” A few other students nodded their heads in agreement. I turned back to the teacher with a pointed look.

“I still prefer that you would watch in another room.”

My fists clenched as I fumed. Why won’t she get it? Seeing my predicament, my interpreter suggested that we head to the main office to complain to the vice principal. I nodded. Turning back to the teacher, I held out my planner for her to sign. She ignored my request and shuffled around some piles of papers on her desk. I glanced at the interpreter.

“Nevermind – let’s go. You’re safe if you're with me.” My interpreter led the way by weaving between the desks between us and the door. Once we were in the hallway, the interpreter We shared comments over the irony of the situation and the particular film choice. I told her, “You think she’d have made the connection between what she’s showing and what she’s doing?”

She shook her head as she held the door to the office.

We notified the front office attendant that we wanted a word or two with the eighth grade vice principal.

Almost immediately, the door behind us opened and he strolled in the office. Seeing us, the vice principal beamed and waved his hand ‘hello.’ “What can I do for you two today?”
In a flurry of agitated signs, I let loose a furious rant of the acts of discrimination committed by my teacher with the interpreter voicing. He nodded as he listened, with his face getting more grim with each passing phrase.

“Of course the captions stay on.” He wiped his forehead and continued, “I will have a word with her. In the meanwhile, keep me updated.”

Then I remembered the class assignment for the following unit. “But we're reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry next and have to write an essay comparing book with movie, which wouldn't really be fair as we couldn't find a captioned version…”

The vice principal held up his hands in surrender. “You will be exempt from that exercise. He paused for a moment, contemplating a substitute assignment. “Instead of the comparison essay, why don’t you write to the producers of the film and file a complaint – and the same time, describe the need for captioned videos to be available.” Seeing my pleased anticipation, he chuckled. “Think that’s up your alley, huh?”

Two years later, the Anne Frank Humanitarian Rights Memorial was erected across the river from the Boise State University campus. I was among the first visitors to the memorial and spent many hours reading the quotes etched onto stone slabs arranged around two seating areas. Oftentimes I would wonder if that English teacher among others who might have needed a friendly prompt onto the path of social justice had visited this place and might have figured it out themselves?

For me, that incident launched me onto the path of discovering the power of self-advocacy, not only for myself and the Deaf/Hard of Hearing community, but for other marginalized individuals and groups.

“How lovely to think that no one need wait a moment, we can start now, start slowly changing the world!” - Anne Frank