INCLUSION (AND SHERO-ISM) IN ACTION

Tammie WArd, Senior Director of Theatre Operations

​Last month, I had the pleasure of co-chairing the Broadway League’s annual Diversity Summit, which was held at New World Stages. Over 200 Broadway leaders, producers, education professionals and diversity practitioners from 22 states came together to discuss critical topics relevant to the current climate and future of DEIA (diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility). The event was a success on many levels, including a singular moment of “shero-ism” by our own DEI Manager, Cassandra James.

I knew Cassandra had some American Sign Language (ASL) in her skill set, but didn’t really understand to what level, and how often she used it.

Cut to a medical emergency that began in the middle of an afternoon session of the Summit. One of the attendees abruptly left the seating area and made her way over to an exit where several of us were standing and watching. Seconds later, she collapsed and began to seize and lose consciousness. Both the New World Stages staff and Summit team immediately went into emergency mode, tending to the attendee’s safety and calling EMS.

I recognized her as one of the people I’d met earlier in the day; we spoke about her work within the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community, and how she was enjoying the Summit. I noticed her signing as she spoke.

In the immediate aftermath of the seizures, she couldn’t speak, and was trying to communicate with just one hand. She was getting frustrated at being misunderstood; we kept asking the same questions of her to no avail. In all my years in the theatre industry, I’d never experienced such utter helplessness and uselessness.

Then I remembered… “Cassandra was with us when I met her earlier in the day; she and Cassandra were signing during the conversation; Cassandra told me she was deaf; CASSANDRA knows ASL!” I quickly went into the theater, found Cassandra, and asked her to follow me. She looked confused and had no idea why I was pulling her out of the panel session so abruptly.
As soon as we approached the attendee, Cassandra noticed she was trying to sign and jumped in and began signing with her.  In less than one minute, Cassandra was able to ask her how she was feeling, locate her bag which had her medication in it, and let her know EMS was on their way.

Cassandra (and the NWS staff) stayed with the attendee until EMS arrived, and Cassandra interpreted for her until she was able to communicate on her own again. She was checked out, and it was decided she didn’t need to go to the hospital. The Summit had ended just as she was preparing to go home. I was able to speak with her briefly, and she expressed how grateful she was that Cassandra was there to help her communicate during the ordeal.
Now, Cassandra isn’t deaf, nor hard of hearing, but she does have a family member who is deaf. She tells me she didn’t initially learn it to communicate with him but did so because she found it interesting as a language. In her HR and DEIA work, she’s been using it with deaf and hard of hearing colleagues for several years.

Who knew Cassandra’s curiosity about another community, and her interest in professional development at a Diversity Summit would collide at the right time, in the right place.  Her awareness about the challenges the Deaf community must face on a daily basis better equipped her to help out, and it helped her be an ally in a time of need.
​
It was all a bit meta, but what a moment it was to witness. Brava, Cassandra.