The Bit That Caught Me Off Guard

It was a remote job like any other on paper—a prep meeting for Deaf travel agents at a global holiday company. They were preparing for their new roles, discussing how to communicate with customers, how to represent the brand. I was working remotely. I was booked last minute. No materials. No brief. Just the link.

The Deaf agents were confident and competent. Their signing was polished, full of enthusiasm and clarity. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t follow the content fully. I didn’t understand the products, the context, or the nuance. And so my interpretation—intended to make their readiness visible to their bosses—fell short of what they were clearly bringing to the room.

Early on, I stopped the meeting. Told the collected team, out loud and on record, that they weren’t hearing their staff properly because I wasn’t prepared enough to be able to interpret them accurately. The meeting was postponed.

Was it the right call? Maybe. Was it the least wrong one? Probably.

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Challenge the Assumption

There’s an idea that ethics is about knowing the rules. About applying codes cleanly, keeping boundaries neat, and avoiding mistakes by staying in your lane. But interpreting doesn’t happen in lanes. It happens in intersections.

Ethics isn’t a fixed route—it’s navigation. And sometimes, there is no neutral route through the roundabout.

The conduit model of interpreting, long critiqued in the literature, imagined the interpreter as a neutral channel—a linguistic pipeline. But as scholars like Robyn Dean, Robert Pollard, and Jemina Napier have shown, interpreting is inherently interactive. Ethical choices are embedded in how we show up—not just what we say.

👉 Deconstructing the Myth of Neutrality – Metzger

👉 The Code and the Culture – Turner

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Real Moment

That travel meeting stayed with me. Not because I made a mistake, but because I chose visibility over polish.

I could have muscled through. Glossed the gaps. Made it sound smooth. But I knew what was happening: brilliant Deaf professionals were being undersold by my unprepared interpretation. That wasn’t just a fidelity issue—it was an ethical one.

So I did the thing we’re often told to avoid: I interrupted. Named the problem. Took the fall. The manager looked surprised. The Deaf staff nodded. The team agreed to postpone the meeting. And I logged off feeling… exposed. But honest.

And crucially, I didn’t sit with it alone. I spoke straight away with my colleague—the co-interpreter and supervisor for the day. I said what had happened, what I’d done, and why. Fortunately for me, when I work remotely I work with Convo UK. This international VRI/VRS, Deaf led/owned company provides; shift leads, supervision and colleagues who are always available for support.

💬 “I didn’t try to frame it as flawless or noble. I just told the truth.”

That conversation helped me keep going. I wasn’t preoccupied for the rest of the shift. My burden had been shared—and in the sharing, lightened.

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Reflection & Integration

That moment rewired something in me. I’ve always prided myself on being prepared, being smooth. But what I learned was this: ethics isn’t about seamlessness. It’s about accountability.

Since then, I’ve been slower to judge silence, quicker to ask for context, and less afraid of naming what isn’t working. I’ve also stopped thinking of ethical decisions as private guilt—they’re shared experiences. They shape the Deaf professional’s day, the hearing person’s impression, and our own self-trust as interpreters.

And when we reflect out loud—through supervision, peer conversations, or writing—it becomes collective wisdom. Not just personal doubt.

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Quiet Echoes of an Honest Call

It’s tempting to think of ethics as a checklist—something you study, memorise, and then execute flawlessly in the field, like a professional robot with a really solid moral compass.

But the truth is messier, and far more human.

Ethics in interpreting isn’t static. It doesn’t live in a training manual. It lives in the tension of each interaction, in the choices you make under pressure, and in how you carry those choices afterward. It evolves with you—with your experience, your self-awareness, your capacity to reflect, and, occasionally, regret.

The dilemmas that stay with us aren’t proof that we’ve failed. They’re signs that we’re paying attention. That we understand interpreting is more than linguistic relay—it’s relational. It’s responsive. And it often means holding space for discomfort, rather than escaping it.

Some of the best interpreters I know don’t speak in certainties. They speak in questions. And they’ve learned that doing this work well doesn’t mean never getting it wrong. It means recognising when the path was imperfect—and showing up next time with just a little more grace.

So here’s to the ones that stay with you.

The choices that don’t file neatly.

The quiet echoes of an honest call.

Sharing a dilemma isn’t a weakness—it’s part of ethical resilience. Here’s how reflection becomes protective, not just corrective.

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📚 Further Reading

Dean & Pollard (2001): “Application of Demand-Control Theory to Sign Language Interpreting” Introduces the value of supervision and debrief as ethical anchors in interpreting. Interpreting.info summary →

Reflective Practice in Interpreting (CIOL Overview) A plain-English introduction to how structured reflection supports ethical decision-making. ciol.org.uk →

VLP Peer Supervision & Support Spaces (UK) Community-led reflective spaces for interpreters to share ethical moments in a safe, skilled forum. vlp.org.uk →